WAR AND PRISON ADVENTURES.
EXPERIENCES OF AN ARMY CORRESPONDENT.—RUNNING THE BATTERIES OF VICKSBURG.—EXCITING SCENES.—PERILOUS SITUATION AND HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPE.—SHOT, SHELL, STEAM, FIRE, AND WATER.—TWO YEARS AS A CAPTIVE.—TUNNELLING.—ITS MODE, MANAGEMENT, AND MISHAPS.—TOILING FOR FREEDOM UNDER GROUND.—BOLD AND PROSPEROUS EFFORTS FOR LIBERTY.—LIFE IN A DUNGEON.—PERISHING BY INCHES.—DEATH ON EVERY HAND.—SUBTERRANEAN SEEKING FOR THE LIGHT.—SELF-DELIVERANCE AT LAST.
When I was a small boy, and fed my miniature mind with thrilling accounts of the adventures of famous men, of their incarceration in prison, and of their escapes, I had no expectation of one day sharing in experiences of a very similar character. I can understand now why I felt so much interest in the biographies of Baron Trenck, Walter Raleigh, Cervantes, Silvio Pellico, and other noted personages who had spent much of their life in confinement. I little dreamed then that I should be for two years a prisoner, and last of all a prisoner in my own country, held by my own countrymen.
As may be supposed, the fortunes of war—our Great Rebellion—proved adverse to me, and I became the occupant of no less than eight different southern prisons.
The way I chanced to fall into the enemy’s hands was this. Having been a war correspondent for twice a twelvemonth, and having learned, under a variety of circumstances, how it feels to be shot at, and what the feeling is of just escaping death, I had a curiosity to enjoy the sensation of running the formidable batteries of Vicksburg during the spring of 1863. I communicated my intention to two of my companions, and they said that they would go with me. We were at Young’s Point, Louisiana, whence the army had already begun to move, by land to New Carthage, designing to cross the Mississippi River there, and attack Vicksburg in the rear. A number of gunboats and several transports had already run the batteries, and on none of these had I been able to obtain permission to go. Just at this time, another expedition, consisting of two large barges loaded with provisions, and bound to a steam-tug, was fitting out, and almost ready to start. Running the batteries was considered extremely perilous—so much so that the soldiers accompanying the transports, instead of being ordered to that duty, were allowed to obey their own inclination. The custom was for the officers of the regiments to announce that so many privates were needed, and that those who wished to take the risk would step forward.
A HAZARDOUS EXPEDITION.
The special expedition in which we military journalists were concerned was deemed an unusually dangerous one, for the reason that the river had then fallen, and there was considerable probability that the boats might get aground in front of the great guns, and be shot to pieces. Moreover, the moon was at the full, and at the hour of our starting—a little after midnight—would be in the very zenith of the heavens. The other vessels had gone down on dark and stormy nights, when they could hardly be seen from the Mississippi shore, and when the probability of their being struck was very small. Several old south-western pilots advised me not to try the experiment; for, if I did, the chances were twenty to one against my coming out alive. “I know the river,” one said, “and the state it is in just now. Besides, those two big barges will be so clumsy, hitched to that little tug, that they’ll be dead sure to stick on that bar opposite Vicksburg, and then you boys’ll have a lively time. The rebs will riddle you from stem to stern, and there won’t be a Yankee left to tell the tale.”
I laughed at this gloomy picture, quoting, “The gods take care of Cato.” The pilots, who had never read Cato, or even heard of Addison, replied in their literal way that they didn’t know my name was Cato, and that they were sure there was no such steamboat on the river.
A SLOVENLY PREPARATION.